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unset Trail 



by 

JAY H. HERMAN 



Author of 
Se Mark of Monica, Etc, 



©CI A 676713 

JUN-51922 



.£63557 



THE DESERT 

When aeons ago the receding waters 
Of the earth left a barren waste on the 
Far western portion of this great continent, 
There arose an awe-inspiring landscape, 
Where, beneath the rays of the summer's sun 
An empire, as vast as ancient Greece or Rome, 
Lay silent and dead, forgotten by God. 
Beautiful islands, once lapped by the waves 
Of a mighty ocean, became majestic 
Mountains in a sea of ever-shifting sand. 
And then, ashamed of its nakedness, 
It drev/ over itself a drouth-resisting 
Mantle of mesquite, cactus and sage. 
V\^here once the fishes and crustaceans sported 
In the briny waters, creepings things now 
Darted to and fro under a pitiless sun. 
Countless years passed, when lo and behold, 

Man, 
In search of new lands to conquer, found this 
Mystery of the new world, and ever since 
Has paid the toll for his intrusion. 



THE SANDSTORM 
When the subtle wind in all its fury blows, 
And whirls and swirls the sands like Arctic 

snow^s. 
The gray coyote and the lizard fear 
Its mystic voices coming far and near. 



2 SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 

Through sage and cactus, as it madly beats 
Relentlessly upon their lone retreats. 
The writhing things in frenzied terror flee 
The grim destroyer in his mystery. 

The drifting sands will soon erase the spot 
Where someone drank the desert's heat, and 

now is not; 
His shrivelled form half-buried in the drift, 
The skull a shelter for the banded swift. 

When the storm breaks white sands again will 

glow 
Upon a grave that only God will know; 
Then purple shadows and the desert moon, 
The scent of palo verde and the night wind's 

croon. 



THE COWARD 

Have you heard that whimsical laughter 
As it comes on the v/ild sage musk ? 

Have you heard that voice complaining 
When out on the desert at dusk? 

Have you seen the brush rabbit in frenzy 
Flee at the nis-ht prowler's wail ? 

Have you seen the bob-cat in his anger 
Defiantly holding the trail ? 

Have you seen a lone shadowy figure 
Glide through the chaparral's shade? 

A coyote is timidly slinking 

To some water-hole, howling, afraid. 



SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 3 

RIO MOJAVE 
Born of the tempest, uncontrolled, 
In my ultimate aerie, gray and cold, 
On a pillow of snow I rest my head 
And watch the course of my serpentine tread. 

In the valley a fringe of cottonwood 
Echoes the throb of my flowing blood, 
Dashing and splashing through cactus and 

sage, 
Greeting the yuccas grown hoary with age. 

Twisting and twining by day and night, 
Past tule and bole in impetuous flight, 
Until at last in the hot gray sand 
I creep and seep to the underland. 



THE OASIS 

Though laden not with spices 
Or myrrh to scent the way. 

The gray ships of the deseit 
With burthens rock and sway. 

A lighthouse on an island 

When storms loom fierce and grim, 
A haven for the wanderer 

The palrn trees beckon him. 

A refuge for the weary 

Cast on a friendly shore, 
Yet some who find this haven 

Will roam the sea no more. 



4 SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 

THE HEEMIT 
I 

Beyond lies Shiloh, peak and spire 

Reflecting still the sunset's fire. 

Above the cottages and trees 

A hawk wheels on the evening breeze. 

Hid deep within a greatcoat's fold, 

A form of a gigantic mold, 

Halts sudden in his measured stride 

Beside the placid river's side, 

And listens to a merry song 

That echoes all the hills along; 

And then again resumes his pace, 

Impatience tinging his bronzed face. 

II 
Majestic oaks with sombre frown, 
Upon a martial scene look down, 
Where gathered round the bickering blaze, 
Recounting scenes of happier days, 
Brave men are greeting the yuletide 
By campfires blazing high and wide. 
No heart tonight has room within 
For weapon clash or battle's din. 
But with all their banter and their jests. 
Fond memories linger in their breasts. 
With silent prayers for the surcease 
Of war, and joys of home and peace, 
And hearths that they were wont to grace 
Before these dark eventful days. 

Ill 

While yuletide songs are echoing through 
The tented lanes of oak and yew. 



SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 5 

John Varley, pacing his lone tent, 
In anger nurses discontent; 
When in the low tent-door appears 
A captain of the volunteers; 
A conversation fast and low, 
And then a struggle and a blow; 
A shot — ^the captain reels and falls; 
A figure through the tent-door crawls. 
And in the darkness disappears. 
Thus yuletide joys are turned to tears, 
When comrades find upon the floor 
Their captain writhing in his gore. 

IV 
*'A dastard crime," his com.rades said, 
'Terhaps o'er some mysterious maid, 
Or rivals for some fair dame's hand. 
An insult, or unjust demand." 
But yet no word that would betray 
The secret of the crime away, 
Falls from the Captain's lips that night, 
As he slumbers by the faggot's light, 
Surrounded by a motley crowd, 
¥/ho vengeance on the foul deed vowed. 
When dawn breaks with its first bright gleam, 
The Captain, flushed with fever's dream. 
Looks on the scene, and m.umbles o'er 
In feeble tones, "O, Ellanore." 

V 
A tail, young Rider is journeying west. 
With heavy heart and heaving breast. 
Before him lies in vast array. 
As far as can the eye surv^ey. 



6 SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 

Fertile prairies and grassy plains, 
Moistened by winter's snows and rains; 
And from a distant snow-capped peak 
There winds a tortuous silvery streak; 
A river fed by melting snows, 
As through the cottonwoods it flows. 
Wildflowers presage an early spring. 
With bird and beetle on the wing. 
The Rider's eyes the scene explore, 
And leaping to the grassy floor, 
Soon has a campflre burning bright, 
With preparations for the night. 

VI 
As darkness on this mute scene falls, 
He hears naught but the coyote's calls. 
But midnight breaks the solemn spell, 
By piercing shriek and savage yell, 
When from the shadows of the wood 
There comes a cry that chills his blood. 
He sees against a campfire's glare. 
Sinewy figures run here and there. 
While som.e preparing for a feast 
The carcass of some slaughtered beast. 
And thus abiniptly ends his dream 
The savage yell and demon's scream. 

VII 
Impatient as a steed of war. 
That scents the danger from afar, 
His hobbled horse, who standing near, 
In frenzy paws the earth with fear. 
With clanging spurs and smothered neigh 
The Rider soon is on his way, 



SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 

To leave this dismal scene behind, 
A more congenial place to find. 
Sometimes to dizzy heights ascending, 
Sometimes to narrow passes bending, 
He often baffles savage wiles, 
By hiding in the deep defiles. 

VIII 
Beyond the mountains deseits lay, 
Scorched by the sun's eternal sway. 
No cooling breezes stir the air, 
No friendly tree's broad shade is there. 
Through chaparral and tangled maze 
The lonely trail is but a trace. 
Like minarets the mountains show 
Against the sky's red sunset glow. 
Then twilight dims the glimmering sand, 
And silence falls upon the land. 
The world seems blighted and all dead, 
But one lone vulture overhead. 
Eagerly waiting for his prey. 
And angry at the long delay. 

IX 
The night falls like a gossamer 
Over some silent sepulchre. 
The lofty yuccas wierdly throw 
Fantastic shadows; and they grow 
Into silhouettes of giants bold 
As fabled in the days of old. 
Like hideous gargoyles they now seem 
To lurk beneath the moonlight's gleam, 
Where some intruding renegade 
Is keeping tryst beneath their shade. 



8 SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 

The nightwind stirs the dry sagebrush, 

Then silence falls, and all is hush; 

All but the horse, whose restless mood. 

Disturbs the stilly solitude. 

Here safe from wiles of savage foe, 

The Rider rests from strife and woe. 

So pass the days and nights away, 

As west, still west, his journey lay, 

Until at last his goal is won, — 

The land where sets the golden sun. 

X 
A purple sun with golden sheen, 
Is setting on a wooded scene; 
Each shrubless crag and mountain tower. 
Shows dimly in the twilight hour. 
The angry water's onward rush, 
And a coyote's wail disturb the hush. 
Far down the trail a tree-frog croaks 
And spirits of the night invokes. 
The nightbirds flit through evening air, 
The catamount forsakes his lair; 
The hoot-owl ventures forth to seek 
His prey, and smacks his crooked beak; 
The jaguar, sly and wily beast, 
In anticipation of a feast, 
Steals stealthily through chaparral 
Close to the timid deer's corral; 
A scuffle and a silent thud, 
A vicious snarl, and flowing blood; 
A slinking figure, satisfied, 
Is speeding up the mountain side. 
And such is nature in this wild 
And untamed land, still undefiled. 



SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 

XI 
A land that ne'er has been defiled 
By track or trail, save by the wild, 
Red, roaming savage of the wood. 
Who disapproved, but understood 
The echo of the axe's stroke 
When civilization's voice thus spoke 
The knell of a departing race, 
And triumph of the keen paleface. 

XII 
Between the creek and foothill's base, 
Where a tangled trail leaves but a trace, 
A rough log cabin built of pines. 
Is covered by thick ivy vines. 
Few travellers of the main road know 
That there's a cabin hidden so, 
And timid ones will hesitate. 
When dark the night and the hour is late. 
Beneath the trees, which in their wake, 
A wild and savage contrast make, 
The sable earth is thickly spread 
With needles that the pines have shed. 
And here the Hermit lives the life 
Of one contented from earth's strife. 
Much time he spends far under ground 
In working claims that he has found. 
He shuns the camps of mining men, 
And seldom leaves his lonely den. 
Content with flowers which he once knew 
That in his mother's garden grew. 

XIII 
All through the land the tolling bells 
Proclaim the yuletide by their knells; 



10 SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 

But here no sweet -toned tocsins ring, 
Or vested choirs their carols sing. 
From Patagonia^s wind-swept shore 
To snow-clad plains of Labrador, 
The wassail-bowl flows free today, 
And drives the year's dull care away. 
The sounds of clinking glasses tell 
Of Bacchanalia's yuletide spell. 
The navvy spends his meagre wage 
In rum and vulgar badinage; 
The demi-monde strives to win 
Forgiveness for her life of sin; 
The millionaire says to himself 
*Thank God, mine is not tainted pelf;'' 
The miser shifts a secret board, 
And chuckles o'er his increased hoard; 
The clergyman discourses on 
The coming of millennium's dawn; 
The mother draws her children close. 
And tells them of Christ's earthly woes. 
So greets the world the new-born year 
With yuletide song and festal cheer. 

XIV 
But Time's fell hand, which now has spread 
The snows of winter on his head. 
The Hermit in his lone retreat 
Is resting on a rustic seat. 
And gazing dream.ingly into 
A fireplace with a cavernous flue. 
Here in fancy tracing faces 
In the embers and the blazes. 
He sees between the fire's red gleam 
A face — her face — is it a dream ? 



SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 11 

The bloom of youth is on her cheek, 
She simply stares, but does not speak; 
Her eyes, so tender and so true, 
Are just like those that he once knew; 
Her silken hair veils her fair brow, 
Her smiling lips are silent now, — 
Yes, it is she — fair Ellanore, 
As fair as in the days of yore. 
He looks about in wild despair. 
But cannot shake the vision's stare. 
Why comes this omen, grim and dread, 
Into his soul — raised from the dead? 
As louder roars the fire's red blast, 
A shuddering glance reveals the past. 
Then rising from the ruddy glare, 
The vision fades in midnight air. 

XV 
And thus the Hermit sits and stares 
Into the fire that flits and flares; 
While down the chimney's grimy throat 
There comes a siren's shrilly note. 
With every blast that fans the blaze 
His fancy traces some new face. 
Figures appear to rise and try 
To gibber, then advance and die. 
He sees the silent specters rise. 
And vanish 'neath his dazzled eyes. 
His calloused hands support his head. 
His stormy mind recalls with dread 
The Captain's blood which he had spilt — 
The felon deed — and his own guilt. 
Then writhes as if to steel the smart 
That gnaws a guilty outcast's heart. 



12 SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 

XVI 

While musing o'er this direful theme, 

A foi^m appears, — is it a dream? 

And is it he, or a vision true, 

This very Captain whom he slew. 

And has he now in flesh appeared. 

In uniform and grizzled beard? 

Then at the specter's slow advance. 

The Hermit sits as in a trance, 

His eyes full on the vision bent. 

To solve the mystic cause intent. 

The apparition's awful stare. 

With features gaunt, and pale, and spare, 

Casts over him a mystic spell. 

That like a mantle o'er him fell. 

XVII 
"I am the Captain, do not fear, 
Comrade, to you I now appear, 
Departed from my carnal home. 
In spirit form to you I come, 
To beg forgiveness of the one 
To whom so great a wrong was done. 
Though you have thought me long as dead. 
These many years since you have fled, 
I pray you, disabuse your mind. 
For in my words you'll solace find. 
That fated night to your lone tent 
With malice in my heaii; I went. 
To avenge the name of Ellanore, 

Ellanore, O Ellanore!" 

XVIII 
"My temper burst restraint that night, 

1 swear it. Comrade, in God's sight; 



SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 13 

I thought to measure sword with you 
Next morning on the early dew. 
But when I struck that first foul blow, 
Your well-aimed ball soon laid me low; 
But comrades soon were by my side; 
Quick to avenge the deed they tried. 
They hounded you by night and day, 
In wood and brake, by stream and way. 
But earth it seemed had cleft in two. 
And so completely swallowed you. 
I lingered weeks, but could not die; 
I had your cause to justify. 
And here a hermit, you, alone, 
Are doing a penance to atone 
The wrong I now confess my own." 

XIX 
With gesture as one of command, 
To heaven he points his ghastly hand. 
"And Ellanore, the maiden fair. 
These many years is resting there; 
A purer heart, a lovelier maid, 
Was never in a churchyard laid. 
Comrade, we've kept our secret well. 
Although our life has been a hell." 
The Hermit nods a slow assent. 
As low his grizzled head is bent. 
His eyes grow fixed, his cheeks grow pale. 
When he has heard the Captain's tale. 
Upon a shelf an ancient clock 
Is tolling twelve, as if to mock 
The silence that now like a tomb 
Pervades the confines of the room. 



14 SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 

XX 

As dawn breaks on the dismal scene, 
The sun reflects its golden sheen 
Softly through the tall pine hedge, 
Across the cabin's window ledge, 
Full on the Hermit's form, now bent 
Low in his rustic seat, content 
In death; a smile upon his face, 
Freed from suspicion and disgrace. 

XXI 
That morning no blue circling smoke 
Above the vines and tree-tops broke; 
And miners who had passed that way. 
Spoke of the mystery oft that day; 
And when they passed at evening tide, 
Again no circling smoke they spied. 
Then to dispel their thoughts of fear 
That some misfortune hovered near, 
Soon toward the cabin they were bent. 
And of some foul deed made comment. 
A rap upon the rustic door 
Brought only forth the echo's roar. 
And then it v/as that strong men's hands 
Burst from the door its iron bands; 
And there before the huge fireplace 
The Hermit sits with smiling face. 
No one had seen that smile before; 
How strange that smile when life was o'er. 

XXII 
Within the cascade's rumbling sound, 
A little ivy-covered mound 
Holds with the Hermit's mortal clay. 
The secret that was hid away 



SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 15 

These many years in his own breast, 
To shield the one that he loved best. 
The wind still croons its mystic lays 
In pine-tops where it feebly plays. 
The cabin now all grim, forlorn, 
Is girdled with the vine and thorn; 
And above it birds sing merrily, 
Unconscious of its mystery. 



CANYON DIABLO 

Standing upon the canyon's rim, I gaze 
Into those silent depths, and try to trace 
The cosmic force that cleft the earth ere man 
Was witness to the Great Creator's plan. 

Was it some celestial visitor, who. 

Flung from a distant star, blazed his way 

through 
Immeasurable space to this far goal, 
Inscribing upon it this mystic scroll ? 

Or, was it some internal power which rent 
And rocked in ages past a continent? 
Unsolved this mystery still lies vague and vast 
Locked in the morning of the distant past. 



I 



THE DANCING PLEIADES 

The storm broke, and each little pool 

Stirred by a lazy breeze. 
Reflected in the evening cool 

The dancing Pleiades. 



16 SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 

THE BIRTH OF THE DESERT 
"My son, your mother, Juanita, is ill almost 

to death. 
Our medicine man can not cure her. 
You and I will go to the Fort, 
And see if the medicine man of the palefaces 

can cure her. 
I have heard he has made some wonderful 

cures. 
A curse on the palefaces. 
Put sufficient maize and venison in the canoe 

to last six days. 
We will go at sun-up." 

Two dusky figures in a deer-skin canoe are 
drifting down the limpid waters of the 
Colorado. 

The elder is plying the paddle. 

Both are keeping up an incessant conversation. 

Taking a draught from an earthen flask, the 
younger says: 

"As for me, I am willing to continue the jour- 
ney. 

But rest your oar, Father, and tell me the 
story of Nevathee while we are drifting 
with the current. 

I have not heard it since I was a boy; though 
it is only old men and women who be- 
lieve it." 

"My son, this legend has been handed down 
from generation to generation. 

I will repeat it as it was told to me." 



SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 17 

Then ceasing paddling, he lays his oar beside 
him, and proceeds with the story of 
Nevathee : 

"Ages ago Indians and white men dwelt hap- 
pily together on this Great Plateau. 

The land was a paradise of fruit and flowers. 

All the wants of the people were gratified with- 
out effort or contention. 

Here grew the orange and the mango, the 
breadfruit and the vine. 

From the beginning of time the people had 
been ruled by their god, Mutavelia, who 
provided them with everything necessary 
for their happiness. 

But unfortunately, Emechike, Mutavelia's wife, 
came under the influence of Nevathee, 
the evi] one, who taught her the art of 
sorcery, and at his instigation, cast a 
spell on Mutavelia, from the effects of 
which he died. 

The death of Mutavelia, whom they supposed 
to be immortal, caused great conster- 
nation among his people. 

They were helpless as little children without 
their ruler. 

All day the Indians prostrated themselves by 
the dead body and wept, while the 
-whites held aloof and counseled among 
themselves. 

In the darkness of the following night, the 
white men with their wives and chil- 
dren stole away across the mountains 
towards the east. 

They took with them all the fire and water. 



18 SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 

In the morning-, instead of a paradise, only a 
bleak desert greeted the eyes of the 
Indians. 

Hungry and heartbroken, they gathered around 
the remains of Mutavelia, with a pitiless 
sun beating down upon them. 

All vegretation withered and died. 

Hunger and thirst was in the land. 

But added to this was the lack of fire, with 
which to cremate the remains of Muta- 
velia. 

Their first duty was to their dead. 

They could not think of omitting the cere- 
monial due so great a ruler. 

So, after much counseling, the older men de- 
cided to send a coyote to a bright star, 
which seemed to be setting on the top 
of the Virgin Mountain, far to the north- 
west, and there secure some fire. 

But the next day the coyote returned tired and 
hungry, without having secured the fire. 

This new disappointment greatly added to their 
already almost unbearable grief, and 
while they were absorbed in their lamen- 
tations, the hungry coyote sprang on the 
dead body, tore ovit the heart and ate it. 

Their distress was now supreme. 

Prostrated upon the ground their wails of 
agony ascended to the stars, where they 
were heard by Mastemho, who was the 
only son of Mutavelia, who ages before 
had gone up to rule the stars. 



SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 19 

Inspired by pity, he left his realm in the skies 
and came down to the now desolate land 
of his youth to offer comfort and succor. 

Perceiving their greatest need, Mastemho gath- 
ered the dry bark of the willow and 
showed them that by rubbing it briskly, 
fire could be produced. 

The Indians lost no time in building a fire and 
cremating the body. 

When the crematory fire burned low, it sud- 
denly grew dark, and the earth trembled 
so violently that all were thrown pros- 
trate. 

Then in the midst of a mighty convulsion, the 
earth parted, leaving a great chasm 
where the cremation had taken place. 

Down this chasm came a rush of water that 
had no end. 

This was the birth of the Colorado River and 
the Grand Canyon. 

The waters carried away the ashes of Muta- 
velia, forever hallowing the shores of 
the newly created river, and rendering 
its water always wholesome and blessed. 

Mastemho remained with the Indians for three 
days. 

He gave them the mesquite bean, and taught 
them how to prepare it for food. 

He also gave them other seeds and plants, the 
quail, the rabbit and the mountain sheep, 
and taught them how to make earthen- 
ware, and garments from the bark of 
the willow. 



20 SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 

He then apportioned the land among the sev- 
eral tribes, giving the Mojaves and their 
kindred, the Yumas, the land along the 
sacred Colorado from the canyon to the 
sea. 

Then he bade them farewell, and again re- 
turned to his kingdom in the stars." 

"And what became of Emechike, the false 
wife?" 

"My son, no one now knows what has become 
of her; if it was ever known, it has been 
lost to the traditions of our people." 

"And Nevathee?" 

"Nevathee still lives in the sand dunes of yon- 
der mountains, where he has some 
springs of water, and raises melons and 
maize. 

He never leaves his domain except by night; 
and being four feet tall and equally 
broad, he travels very fast like a rolling 
ball. 

At night he searches for Mojaves to carry 
them to his home, which we are now 
approaching; and that is the reason I 
wish to camp here for the night." 

"Father, I am no coward, nor an old woman." 

Then taking another draught from the flask, 
and standing upright in the canoe, he 
shouts: 

"Nevathee— ptish!" 

The echo repeated "ptish" in defiance. 

The old man hearing the echo crouches lower 
in his seat. 



SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 21 

I "My son, I have lived many moons, and have 
known many braves to disappear in this 
vicinity. 
' It is growing dark, and we are diifting neai'er, 

nearer — and I pray you" 

[*'Nevathee — ptish! Nevathee — ptish! Coward!" 
shouts the young man, rising, and drink- 
ing from the flask. 
[ Then in a dininken stupor, he again sits down, 
and seems to be lost in deep thought. 

But suddenly he rises again, shaking his fist in 
the direction from which the echo came. 

**Nevathee — -ptish! Nevathee — ptish! I am no 
coward! I defy you!" he shouts sar- 
castically. 

Then, his body swaying for a moment, he loses 
his balance, and upsetting the canoe, 
both father and son are thrown into the 
water. 

A few bubbles and an empty canoe drift down 
the river. 

The next morning some Indians see an empty 
canoe drifting down the stream. 

They get into their canoes to investigate, but 
they do not touch it. 

It is Nevathee's. 



MOUNTAINS AT DAWN 
Against the purple sky at dawn, 

With the southwind's first caress, 
The dromedaries march, updrawn 

Out of the desert silences. 



22 SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 

MAC 
"Beg pardon, sir. How long have you resided 

here ? 
Ten years; all right.. Vd like some information 

that would steer 
Me up against a fellow by the name of Mac, 
Who used to live here years ago, — way back 
In the nineties; used to be a mucker in the 

Lucky Boy. 
Came out here from York State; think it was 

from Troy. 
Did you know him? Quiet fellow; 
Always had a streak of yellow." 

"Did I know him ? George McLennon, Called 

him Mac 
For short. Tall, slender-like, gray eyes, hair 

black. 
Saw him blow in on the stage at the old Desert 

Inn; 
Had a grip, striped pants, hurrah vest, and lots 

of tin. 
Saw him step up to the bar, 
When he met Old Grizzly thar. 
And Grizzly Bill 
Sure had his fill. 

And when he saw those pants and vest; 
Well; I hadn't orter tell the rest. 
Grizzly had never seen such a sight. 
And Mac sure never had such a fright. 
Well, it was always Grizzly *s whim 
To have everybody drink with him. 
So he walks up to the stranger, 
But somehow Mac had scented danger. 



4 



SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 23 

Then Grizzly sez, sez he, ^Fm Grizzly Bill, 
Have one on me, and don^t refuse, for drink 

you will/ 
^Excuse me, sir,' sez Mac, with a quiver in his 

tone, 
'If I drink here, Fve got the dough to buy my 

own/ 
Then Grizzly he gets hot around the collar 
And sets up a yell as loud as he can holler. 
He picks Mac up and sets him squar upon the 

floor, 
Whar he sits a gazing at the open door. 
Then all the boys they gathers 'round poor 

Mac, 
And you orter heard the funny jokes they'd 

crack 
About his clothes and little toy pop-gun; 
Of course it only was all meant in fun. 
Then Grizzly picks him up and puts him on his 

feet. 
But Mac gets riled and turns as red as a cooked 

beet. 
Grizzly then tells him to dig 
Tn and dance a nigger jig. 
But Mac was slov/ to comprehend 
Till Grizzly's hand towards his holster went 
And pulls a cannon out. 
And with an awful shout 
Sez, 'Double-quick, 
You city stick.' 

Well, you orter seen Mac dance; 
Back'ard and for'ard he'd prance, 
With the wild cat-caDs, 
Aiul the whistlini'- balls 



24 SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 

That Grizzly's cannon tore 
Into the sandy floor. 
When Mac gets tired 
Of that all-fired 
Prancing and dancing, 
He stops, and advancing 
Toward Grizzly, he sez, *You win, 
1*11 drink, you pay, for I'm all in/ 
Then all hands drink; 
And quicker 'n a wink 
Mac breaks for 4;he door, 
\yhile all the boys roar. 

'*But somehow Mac 

Later on comes back 

To buck the tiger now and then. 

He couldn't play worth shucks; and when 

At last he went plum broke. 

His pants and vest in soak, 

He gets a job on the new hotel 

Carrying the hod, till one day he fell 

Oaten a second-story window 

On his head; but bein' so slow 

He didn't hurt hisself at all 

By that tremendous fall. 

But he quits his job and goes to muckin' 

In the old Lucky Boy, and he stuck in 

That hole nearly two years, 

When one day the miners hears 

Of a new big strike. 

So he starts on a hike 

And locates a claim, which, 

From the ^rass-roots down was rich 



SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 25 

As old King Solomon's mines. 

They tell me now he shines 

In society. Did I know Mac? Well, I should 

say. 
But IVe never seen him since that day. 
Say, Pard, I don't know who you are, 
But youVe got a mighty swell, big car. 
Did i know Mac ? 
Sure's your hat's black. 
My name's Jim, 
Jim McKim." 

"I'm glad to know you, Jim, 

And glad that you knew him. 

My name is McLennon; it used to be Mac 

Way back in the nineties, when times were so 

slack. 
But I struck it rich after leaving this camp. 
While here I was only a beggarly tramp." 

"Well, gol dum you, Mac, it's you sure enough, 
And here I've been tellin' you all this fool stuff. 
Let's go to the Inn 
And have some gin- 
Ger-ale at the bar, 
For Grizzly's not thar. 
And the camp is as dry 
As the grass in July." 



SEA SHELL ON THE DESERT 
Since once the grieving sea has surged, 
And Nature built this house of clay. 
An empire vast has here emerged, 

And nations fell to Time's decay. 



26 SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 

THE OWL 

On a cold and dreary night, sitting by the 
campfire^s light, 
Meditating o'er the days of long ago; 
Thinking of the days of yore, days gone by 
forevermore, 
When a solemn voice, enchanting. 
In deep tones, like one commanding. 
Starts my heart with anguish panting, 
And with trembling voice I stutter, all the 
words that I could utter — 

Who, who 

When a voice from outer darkness answers 
wierdly, 

Hoo, hoo 

What infernal sounds are these, coming on the 
Stygian breeze ? 
Someone seeking some departed friend, I 
trow; 
Seeking someone whom he cherished many 
years ere he had perished 
On this cold and dismal sphere; 
Someone still sojourning here, 
Whom he wishes to be near. 
But I still sit meditating, and unconsciously 
debating — 

Who, who 

As though my inmost thoughts devining, 
comes the echo, 

Hoo, hoo 



SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 27 

Thus my dreams abiniptly ended, into the night 
my way I wended, 
Like a bold knight of the by-gone days; 
With the effort of a Titan, my curiosity to 
enlighten; 
Like a sturdy, plodding granger, 
Without thought of pending danger, 
Seeking but this mystic stranger. 
And the voice within my throat uttered but the 
single note — 

Who, who 

When again the echo from the darkness 
spoke — 

Hoo, hoo 

As I stood with awe and stuttered, as again 
these words were uttered, 
In a tone quite low and sepulchral; 
While my frame like aspen shaking, and my 
heart with terror quaking, 
"If thou art of man or beast, 
Or the ghost of one deceased. 
Wandering about released, 
Why art thou intiniding here?" quoth I then 
without a fear — 

Who, who 

But there came the simple answer to my 
query, 

Hoo, hoo 

And from whence the words were spoken, look- 
ing for a sign or token, 
I perceive my midnight visitor perched high 



28 SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 

In the campfire's fitful gleaming, through abys- 
mal darkness beammg, 
On the branch of an old ti^ee, 
With fiery eyes fixed upon me, 
For I now could plainly see. 
That of man or beast or fowl, it was simply ail 
old owl — 

Who, who 

As is natural to his kind, echoed merrily, 
Hoo, hoo 



THE CACTUS 

Perhaps no plant that verdant grows 

Protects itself from direful foes, 

In parched waste or garden spot, 

From wind and storm, and seasons hot, 

Like cactus, armoured with its spears. 

As on the desert it appears. 

It's meat and drink to those that roam 

The sea of sand *neath heaven's dome, 

As those who have the desert braved. 

Can testify that they were saved 

From unknown graves, when they had trailed 

The burning sands when water failed. 

Perhaps no other plant assumes 

So m.any shapes and varied blooms; 

Some like a reed with prickly thorns, 

And others like a deer's pronged horns; 

Some round, some flat,' some like a fan. 

And some like a bewhiskered man; 

While others stand a score or more 

Of feet above the sandy floor, 

'As sentinels over all the rest, 

With outstretched arms and armoured breast. 



SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 29 

"NO, SENOR !" 
It is an evil place; 
And midnight. 

At one end of the room there is a long bar; 
Behind it a row of polished mirrors 
And some shelves with bottles of curious 

shapes 
Containing liquids of various colors. 
White-aproned men are constantly placing 

these on the bar, 
And then replacing them again. 
Men in front of the bar are filling their glasses. 
All about the room men and women sit around 

tables " 
And talk in a loud tone. 
Other white-aproned men with large trays 
Are scurrying to and fro 

Serving various beverages to their customers. 
At one side of the room a portly woman is 

playing a piano and singing. 
In the farthest corner of the room 
A man and a woman are conversing in low 

tones. 
There is no doubt as to their Latin ancestry. 
She would be considered handsome anywhere. 
Her eyes are dark and searching, 
Half -divine — and desperate. 
Such eyes you would always remember. 
Her clothes are rich and well-fitting. 
A cluster of rings adorns her hand, 
And a bangled bracelet circles her wrist. 
Their conversation is low, 
And inaudible to their neighbors. 



30 SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 

Suddenly the quiet of the comer is broken by 

a loud 
"No, Senor!" 
A jewelled hand 
With a pearl-handled stiletto 
Is poised for an instant; 
And then — 
The inmates disperse 
Until the next night. 



WHEN I AM DEAD 
When I am dead 

I would rest beside some desert trail, 
Beneath the ageless sun 
And the golden moon, 
Oblivious of the beating storms 
That chant their psalms of grief. 

When I have taken the trail 

That plunges into the Great Eternal, 

I would sleep my last dreamless sleep 

Where the coyote mocks 

The silence of the night 

With his mournful wail 

That is lost among the stars. 

I crave not pomp or pageantry, 
Nor praise or songs from mortal lips, 
For Nature's seraphic choir 
Will sing its songs of praise 
Over my body's lonely sepulchre — 
And God will hear. 



1 



SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 31 

THE LAST RIDE 
The miners of Goldsboro 

Of a new strike had heard, 
Beyond the silent desert, 

And all the camp was stirred. 

They looked across in silence 
And thought of wealth beyond, 

But miles of sand and sagebrush 
Held them in prison's bond. 

Grubstakes were freely offered 

To him of iron nerve, 
Who would brave the sand and sun, 

His fellow men to serve. 

Jim Brocaw heard the rumor 

Discussed among the men, 
And all the brawny miners, 

And every citizen. 

'Til go if I am grubstaked. 

And go at break of day; 
ril conquer all the hardships. 

Or bleach my bones on way." 

At break of day next morning. 
With grub, and pick, and pan. 

With water-bag and broncho, 
His lonely ride began. 

A farewell hand then waving 

To the assembled crowd. 
They wished him a safe journey, 

And cheered him long and loud. 



32 SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL, 

Over the parched desert 
On trails that dimly wind, 

His faithful bronco sauntered, 
Leaving the miles behind. 

Close by a clump of mesquite, 
As darkness slowly stole 

Over the Land of Silence, 
He found a water-hole. 

Tv^as there he ate his supper 
And made his camp that night. 

His faithful bronco hobbled, 
A campfire for a light. 

At early dawn next morning, 
When first the sun's bright ray 

Beamed across that great expanse, 
He again was on his way. 

The lizards and the horned-toads 

Sped across the path. 
And lean coyotes eyed him. 

And whined in sullen wrath. 

At dusk he stopped a moment 
The landscape to survey. 

That he might get his bearings. 
And see how landmarks lay. 

He should have then been nearing 

Another water-hole, 
But signs of water failed him, 

And anguish filled his soul. 



I 

1 



SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 33 

Then on and on he plodded, 

Expecting soon to see, 
The water-hole he sought for, 

Close by the mesqiiite tree. 

When darkness overwhelmed him, 

He thought it would be best 
To make his camp there for the night, 

And get a needful rest. 

While pondering o'er his meal 
On signs that sometimes fail, 

He realized that he had 
Been following a blind trail. 

Twas not a night for slumber 

As there alone he lay, 
Listening to the coyotes' wail, 

And wishing for the day. 

Next morning o'er the sagebrush 

He gazed in wild despair. 
But ne'er a sign of bronco 

Could he see anywhere. 

And when at last he realized 

His perilous position, 
Undaunted he set out to walk, 

Bound to fulfill his mission. 

His water now was getting low, 
And thought how soon would he 

Food for hungry coyotes 
Or ravenous vultures be. 



:U SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 

He took his grub and water-bag 
And then retraced the trail 

Back over miles of blistering sand. 
Ere all his strength should fail. 

A little water now and then 
From the water-bag he sips^ 

Until the last drop he had drained 
To moisten his parched lips. 

In haste he wanders on and on. 

And staggers to and fro, 
Following many a blind trail, 

Till he could no farther go. 

Delirium overtakes him. 

As he one more effort made 

To reach a distant mesquite, 
And die beneath its shade. 

And there above the mesquite. 

He saw a ship and sail, 
On water in the deseii;, 

Beyond the winding traiL 

Spurred on by this illusion 
He hurried on his way, — 

Jim Brocaw saw a m.irage, 
A trick the deseits play. 

Alas! His strength now failed him. 
And then exhausted falls, 

And in his wild delirium 
His farewell scene recalls. 



SONOS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 35 

Then closed his eyes to sorrow 

And all the earthly ills, 
Dead in the sand and sagebrush, 

Far from the golden hills. 

At break of day next morning 

Prospectors on their way. 
Heard a riderless bronco 

Greet them with a neigh. 

In searching through the sagebrush 

And all the trails around, 
One hundred yards from water 

Jim's lifeless body found. 

Jim Brocaw now is resting 

Close by the water-hole. 
And miners on their journey 

Speak low, "God bless your soul." 



HORNED TOAD 
You little gray imp, though ugly as sin, 
I know that you have a good heait within; 
And though you have horns and look like the 

devil, 
1 am sure that they are not meant for evil. 
When coming to me low-crouching and crawl- 
ing, 
And weeping, with you blood-red tears falling, 
Raising your head, and looking up at me, 
Straight into my eyes so pitifully, 
I wonder why Nature gave those features 
To such gentle and harmless creatures. 



36 SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 

THE GRAVE BY THE SIDE OF THE TRAIL 

I am on an unfrequented mountain trail. 
Tired and footsore, I am descending from the 

higher altitudes. 
Half grown over, my trail winds through the 

dense chaparral. 
I look neither to the right nor to the left. 
A deadly rattler crosses my trail, but I heed 

it not. 
Lizards dart to and fro. 
Some stop to look at me, then dart swiftly into 

the chaparral. 
But I trudge on, my thoughts wandering from 

one subject to another. 

I think of school days, schoolmates, sweet- 
hearts, friends, home, mother, father, 
sister, brother, journeys, rivers, brooks, 
woods, adventures, longings. 

I think of New York, Indiana, Kentucky, Illi- 
nois, Wisconsin, Louisiana, California, 
and other states. 

I think of a freckle-faced lad, alw^ays backward 
in his studies, who is now a noted artist. 

I think of another lad, handsome and athletic, 
who is now a famous sculptor. 

I think of others, who are now successful phy- 
sicians and lawyers. 

I think of those who are now prosperous busi- 
ness men. 

I think of the times, when we as boys, played 
on the green, swam in the creek and 
roamed the w^oods. 



SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 37 

I think of the time when we confided to each 

other our troubles, our love affairs, and 

our ambitions. 
I think of the old post-and-rail fences along 

the country roads. 
I think of the wildflowers that grew along the 

roadside. 
I think of the wild grape-vines that twined far 

up into the beeches. 
I think of peeling the slippery-elm and digging 

up the aromatic sassafras root. 
I think of the bubbling spring by the hillside, 

where lying flat I di^ank the clear, re- 
freshing water. 
All these thoughts drift back to me now as 

I am walking along this lonesome trail. 
And then, aroused as from a trance, I drink 

the warm water from my canteen. 
But I am satisfied. 

VsHiat is this? 

A grave beside this lonely trail, almost hidden 

by the chaparral. 
A crude head-board with a single name. 
I will stop and speak to him, though he be 

silent in his grave. 
How came this poor fellow to his death ? 
How came he to be buried in this forsaken 

spot? 
How long have the lizards and other creeping 

things been ininning over this isolated 

sepulchre ? 



38 SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 

How long has the mocking bii^d been singing 
his vesper hymns over this lonely 
grave ? 

I survey the surroundings. 

Around me I see the stakes and monuments of 
mining claims. 

I see abandoned prospect holes. 

Here men once delved deep in the earth to find 
a precious metal — and wealth. 

I examine one close by, and find that at its 
very mouth there has been a cave-in. 

I have solved the mystery. 

My silent friend had staked his life in the 
search of gold. 

Here he was digging when a catastrophe over- 
took him. 

Perhaps his partner was away for provisions. 

On returning he misses his friend, who had 
not yet appeared at the camp. 

He calls, but receives no answer. 

He w^alks over to the prospect hole, and at a 
glance sees that misfortune has over- 
taken him. 

His partner may be some distance back in the 
hole and still be alive. 

He procures a pick and shovel and works like 
a demon. 

Half an hour later he uncovers a foot. 

The hope that his partner may still have a 
chance for life, goads him on to a more 
desperate effort. 

Unmindfiil of his own danger he at last un- 
covers the body. 



SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 39 

He carries it out to the open air, tears away 
the shirt and places his ear to the chest, 
to find some sign of the heart's beating. 

But no beating heart responds. 

He is dead. 

Next day a grave is dug by the prospectors 

from adjoining claims. 
Rolled in a blanket, the body is tenderly laid 

in the grave. 
A prayer is laboriously uttered by an old, 

grizzled prospector, the grave is filled, 

and a mound heaped over it. 
A rough board, painted white, with a single 

name on it, is placed at the head. 

I sit on a rock beside the grave, my blankets 

and canteen near me. 
Leaning my face in my hands, I contemplate 

the scene. 
A life crushed out in its prime. 
Poor fellow! You are only one of many. 

Perhaps you had passed the morning of life, 

and worlds to be conquered lay before 

you. 
Perhaps when evening came in this lonesome 

spot your thoughts often wandered back 

to your boyhood days. 
I can see you sitting in the twilight in front of 

your cabin, or by the crude fireplace, 

musing on the days gone by, 
Your home, father, mother, sisters, brothers, 

sweetheart, friends, schoolmates, 



40 SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 

Journeys, rivers, brooks, woods, green fields, 
adventures, longings. 

But how appropriate is the scenery for a final 
resting place. 

Here, by the side of the trail, among the sage 
and manzanita, the myriads of wild- 
flowers, and the rustling grasses. 

I pick a handful of sage and flowers and place 
them on your grave. 

I am glad we have met. 

Adieu. 

I resume my journey. 

In the sandy trail I see the imprint of the 

tortuous winding of a rattler. 
I see the tracks of a lone black bear. 
I follow the tracks of the timid deer as they go 

down to the creek to drink. 
I see a bob-cat frolicking in a gnarled old 

sycamore. 
I see a gray squirrel leaping from limb to limb 

in another sycamore. 
I hear the whine of a coyote. 
I hear the purr of the mountain quail. 
Lizards dait back and forth across the trail. 
The scent of sage is in the air. 
A fiery orb in the west is slowly sinking. 
It is dusk. 



SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 41 

THE TENDERFOOT 

A tenderfoot once came to town, 

And wandered up the street, and down; 

He liked the place, for it was close 

Where nearby snow-capped mountains rose. 

''They are no farther than a mile, 

1*11 ^tempt them," he said with a smile. 

Next morning' at the break of day, 

He found a trail that led away 

Right to the mountain's base, 

And then unto himself he says, 

'Til take a stroll before I eat. 

To yonder hills, and there Fll greet 

The rising sun; 'twill be a sight. 

Besides working up an appetite." 

When he had walked an hour or so, 
His appetite began to grow. 
But still he kept a constant pace. 
As though he meant to win a race. 
Another hour had soon passed by, 
(The sun was now high in the sky). 
But yet he kept a merry gait, 
For breakfast he must not be late. 
His appetite was growing strong, 
And surely it would not be long 
Ere he would reach those hills. 
And those expected thrills. 

An hour later he finally had 
Reached his goal, — and he was glad. 
With perspiration on his brow, 
He saw the sun above him now. 



42 SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 

His watch told him 'twas twelve o'clock; 
Then sat himself upon a rock 
To contemplate the scene 
(0 how deceived he'd been). 

To wish for breakfast was no use, 
And dinner he could hardly choose. 
So he took back the winding trail, 
For supper surely he'd not fail. 
His appetite was gr^at, 
And he must not be late. 

At last, footsore and tired, he 

Sat down to supper wearily, 

And gave his outraged feelings vent 

In language quite reminiscent. 

His kind friends told him then that he 

Had walked in miles just twenty-three. 

He doubted not a word they said, 

But ne'er again could he be led 

To believe that distance in the west 

Was not the most "deceivingest." 

Next morning at the break of day, 

Found him again upon his way 

New scenery to discover 

(For scenery he was now a lover). 

He soon came to a little ditch, 

Scarcely two feet across, but which 

He thought must be a canyon deep, 

Through which the rumbling waters creep. 

As there he stood in utmost awe, 
Gazing down the canyon's maw, 



SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 43 

A little urchin came that way, 
And blandly said, "Say, Mister, say, 
Why are you staring that-a-way?" 
The tenderfoot then said he thought 
That distance in the west was fraught 
With many a mean deception, 
And that this canyon was no exception. 

The little boy then lightly stepped 
Across the ditch; and a smile crept 
Over the tenderfoot*s rugged face; 
And then he said with utmost grace, 
"I believe that distance in the west, 
Is sure the most *deceivingest.* " 



SUPERSTITION MOUNTAIN 

When the lowly Indian tells of 

Superstition Mound, 
With its diabolic spells of 

Trembling of the ground, 
He thinks of hell. 

When the brave who trails the fleet deer 
Perchance should hear a groan 

Like distant thunder, he in fear, 
Will prostrate fall and moan, 
And count his beads. 

When he hears a muffled rumbling, 

With a quiver and a quake, 
Like the evil spirits grumbling, 

He will tremble and will make 
A cross and pray. 



44 SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 

BOB WINTER'S STORY 

Three prospectors were sitting by 

A campfire burning low, 
Relating their experiences 

Of travel to and fro. 

In a dialect quite western, 
Adventures there they told, 

Of narrow escapes and hardships 
They met in search of gold. 

And when it came Bob Winter's turn 
To tell them just one more, 

They all agreed 'twould be the last, 
And let him have the floor. 

''Wall," he said in a drawling tone, 
**Onct I was much disgusted 

The way my streak of luck was goin'. 
And i was almost busted. 

**So I thought Vd take a desert claim, 

For I had had a hunch 
That raisin' pop-corn was a cinch 

To clean up a little bunch. 

'Ten acres then I plants to corn. 

The kind pops open wide; 
It £^rew, an' grew, an' got so tall. 

An elephant 'twould hide. 

'Td figured out how I would make 
More money than prospectin'; 

Five hundred dollars to the acre 
1 surely was expectin'. 



SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 45 

*'It all went well till one hot day 

Some time in late September, 
That was the hottest day Fve known, 

For I can well remember. 

" 'Bout noon that day the com began 

To pop, an' pop, an' pop; 
It popped all day, and popped all night, 

I thought it ne'er would stop. 

"A desert wind then came along 

An' blew the corn up high. 
Till like a blizzard sure enough, 

It darkened the whole sky. 

"My neighbor had a herd of steers 

On an adjoining farm; 
The pop-corn raining down on them 

Filled them with great alarm. 

"It covered the ground a foot or so, 

An' what do you suppose, 
Them blamed fool steers stood thar all night 

An' actually froze. 

"An' then to make the matter worse, 

He sued for damage done; 
He took the case into the courts, 

An' soon his case had won. 

"The court just claimed that I had erred. 

When nature I defied; 
I lost my case, and here I am 

To roam the desert wide." 



46 SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 

THE MOUNTAIN FIRE 
It was the evening season of the year, 
When the dense chaparral was brown and sere 
On mountain side and over all the land, 
And winds blew softly from the ocean strand, 
When in the distance there rose to heaven 
The flare of the brand and the light of the 

levin. 
With the curling smoke of many a flame. 
Driving before it the wild frenzied game. 

The populace was soon aroused by this 
Devouring element — and serpent's hiss. 
The hoarse cry of *^Fire !" from many a throat 
Soon mingled with that of the coyote's note. 
The brave flre-warden's call for volunteers 
Was answered quickly with wild frantic cheers 
By liity brave men who responded as one, 
To brave the heat of the fire and sun. 

Soon they were scattered over mountain trail. 
Where each one began the fire to assail. 
With shovels for weapons and stout brawny 

arms, 
These men of the town and men of the farms 
Fought like demons incarnate to check the 

speed 
Of towering flames that were licking with 

greed 
All things that lay in their fiery path, 
As nearer and nearer they crept in their wrath, 

"Run for your lives," came the fire-warden'j? 
"If you value your lives, I beg you to fly." 



SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 47 

But the wind now blew a furious gale, 

And but five men stood, disheartened and pale 

When their fellow men, who in haste had 

flown, 
Leaving them to fate and to battle alone. 
Like pillars of marble they stood and gazed, 
While hoary old pines and chaparral blazed; 
The resinous odors and sparks descending 
Fell 'round them like hailstones, unrelenting. 
They spoke not a word, for their tongues were 

tied, 
In mute contemplation of their sad plight. 
The warden, who thought of his children and 

wife, 
Offered up prayers — the first in his life. 
In utter submission their heads they bowed. 
And utter submission to God they vowed. 

Just then, as the wind in its fury blew. 

The flames that were thickest were cleft in two, 

All dashed through the opening, — they were 

safe, — 
Delivered from death and untimely grave. 



"STOP !" SAID THE MOUNTAINS 
"Stop !" said the mountains to the desert, 

"No farther shalt thou go, 
Beyond thee we'll an empire build, 

And watch it thrive and grow." 

And so they turned their waters from 

The grayish deseii; gloom, 
Into fair valleys, and there came 

A paradise to bioom. 



48 SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 

THE WILD ROSE OF INYO 
Beneath fair Inyo's mountain shade 
I met a rustic hill-bred maid. 
Her auburn curls hung all awry, 
Her blue eyes seemed to match the sky; 
She sang a song which was in tune 
With nature in this month of June. 

I bowed to her, and asked her where 
The prettiest of the wildfiowers were. 
She pointed to a trail that led 
Far up the mesa, — then she said, 
"There the poppj^ and larkspur grows 
With Inyo's rugged pink wild rose." 

As up the trail I slowly went, 

The air was filled with sweetest scent. 

I hunted over the mesa wide, 

But not a single rose I spied 

Amongst the flowers still wet with dew. 

In searching all the mesa through. 

Eeturning then through tangled wood, 
Soon in the maiden's presence stood, 
I asked her under what pretence 
She preyed on my poor innocence, 
That I'd overlooked the mesa close. 
But never found a pink wild rose. 

She said, with hill-bred innocence. 
That I shall have my recompense. 
For a wild rose stood within my grasp — 
And then I gave one long loud gasp — 
And with her hand in mine I chose 
To plight my troth to Inyo's rose. 



4 



BONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 40 

NEW-MOWN HAY 
^Twas yesterday I roamed green fields 

Amongst the new-mown hay. 
When memories dript back to me^ 

As my thoughts stole far away. 

Twas yesterday I wandered by 

The brook so light and gay. 
But memories dript back to me. 

On each breath of new-mown hay. 

*Twas yesterday I found a trail, 

And braved it all the way; 
Still memories dript back to me 

With the scent of new-mown hay. 

Twas yesternight I slept and dreamed 

Of scenes so far away; 
Again I breathed the sweet perfume 

In fields of new-mown hay. 



NIGHT IN A CABIN 
I have a cabin on a mount, 

Pine needles for a bed, 
And through the roof at night I see 

The bright stars overhead. 

When chill winds whisper in the pines, 
And goblins, gnomes and dryads stalk, 

My cabin seems so near to heaven, 
I think I hear the angels talk. 

Then from his golden moonbeam throne 
Comes Morpheus soft and still, 

To spin a web of dreams o'er me, 
Arid banishes all' ill. 



50 SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 

THE SKELETON 

Behold! Whose bleaching bones lie here upon 

the sand? 
And this, all that is left of what was once a 

human. 
Poor fellow! 
How many weeks, months or years have you 

been lying here? 
Perhaps no one will ever know. 
Whence you came and whither you were going 

shall perhaps always remain a mystery. 
From yonder rusty pick and pan I deduce that 

you have been a prospector. 
I judge you to have been a strong man, full of 

vigor, perhaps in your prime. 
But you have gone like many others who have 

been tempted by the lure of gold. 
In my mind I can picture your last delirious 

struggle and your vain fight for exist- 
ence. 
I can read the last thoughts of your fevered 

brain. 
They were of homt; and water. 
Does some one miss you? 
Is there a father, mother, sister, brother or 

sweetheart waiting for you ? 
Is there a devoted wife anxiously awaiting your 

return ? 
Are there children eagerly listening for the 

footsteps of a returning father ? 
Who shall ever know ? 
Only the All-knowing Mind can reveal the 

secrets that sleep in sand. 



SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 51 

Poor fellow! 

I will do all I can for you. 

I will dig a shallow grave. 

I will gather up your fragments. 

I will lay them tenderly in the grave. 

I will heap a mound of sand over them. 

I will place some greasewood pales around the 

mound. 
And upon it I will place your pick and pan. 
And I will leave you to the sands and the sun 

and your God. 



A JUBILEE 
I know a place in a canyon deep, 
Where a rocky ledge hangs dark and steep, 
Where the green fern grows in its mossy bed, 
And the alder trees their shadows shed. 

I know where a brook goes leaping by, 
And zephyrs through the fir trees sigh, 
Where from the city's stress and lure 
I fnid a haven safe and sure. 

I know where the deer find safe retreat. 
And the nightingale sings low and sweet, 
Where a timid trail through chaparral 
Leads to a little leafy dell. 

I know a pool where the wary trout 
In sparkling waters swim about; 
And here I hold a jubilee, 
With rod and line, alone, care-free. 



52 SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 

JACK'S CHICKEN RANCH 
Jack Hampden came out west to live. 
And sought his fortune to retrieve. 

He soon took up a deseii: claim. 
And gave it quite a fancy name. 

He figured out how hens would pay, 
Because all winter they would lay. 

He bought a hundred first-class hens. 
And put up fancy chicken pens. 

Kaffir corn and alfalfa green 
Could all about the place be seen. 

Next spring three hundred chicks hatched out 
And everywhere they ran about. 

Jack Hampden thus enjoyed the sight, 
And in their antics took delight. 

One day his aunt came from the east, 
And thought she*d give the chicks a fea.^t. 

A peck of pop-corn then she bought, 
For a change of diet, as she thought. 

Next morning early, she went out, 
And strewed the pop-corn all about. 

The little chickens in their glee. 
Ate up the pop-corn eagerly. 



SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 53 

Then out into the field they went, 
To bask in sunshine, all content. 

But lo! that night no chickens came 
To the ranch that bore the fancy name* 

Next morning at the break of day 
Found Jack out wandering in dismay. 

He found that stretched out here and there-, 
Lay headless chickens everywhere. 

The heat had popped the com they ate; 
They lost their heads, — such was their fate. 



THE CALL OF THE WILD 

Shot through the heart, a coyote lay 

Dead at the hunter's feet. 
It was but the price that the hunted pay 

When hunter and hunted meet. 

A leather collar his neck adorned, 
Put there by a human hand, 

Whose kindness he perhaps had scorned 
Since reft from, his jungle band. 

That instinct born of the wolfish clan 

Asserts itself in all, 
V/hen jungle bred, the kindness of man 

Is naught to the jungle's call. 



54 SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 

THE TENDERFOOT'S ILLUSION 

For some unaccounted reason 

A tenderfoot was stranded 
In the great Mojave Desert; — 

None knew just how he landed. 

With his faithful burro resting 

Beneath a mesquite's shade, 
He watched the queer contortions 

That here the desert played. 

Off in the distance suddenly 

He saw a singular sight, 
When an object large and canny, 

Gave him a dreadful fright. 

Though calm, and sane, and full possessed 

With normal faculties, 
He saw approaching from the west, 

A monster of the seas. 

Like a giant caterpillar, 

Of a thousand feet or more, 
It was humping itself in sections 

As towards him it bore. 

To fly was useless, as the thing 
Was far too fast approaching, 

And the uncertain speed of 
His burro was reproaching. 

So in horror he sat still, and 

Incapable to decide 
On action, until the object 

Was almost at his side. 



SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 55 

It was then he saw a freight train 

Of thirty cars or more, 
Come down the track he stood beside, 

With a tremendous roar. 

Vibrating heat waves had produced 

An optical illusion. 
By magnifying the train into 

A terrible confusion. 



THE DESERTED MINING GAMP 
Where once the blue smoke curling rose 

Over many a happy home, 
The ivy vine is clinging close, 

And the timid hares now roam. 

Here generations lived and died 

In the halcyon days of yore, 
Here little children laughed and cried. 

And their childish sorrows bore. 

Where once rang loud the child's sweet voice, 

The deer goes browsing by, 
And in the sky the black crows poise. 

And utter their plaintive cry. 

Where once there was a fair greensward, 

The chaparral grows high 
Above the mounds in the churchyard. 

Where generations lie. 

The inhabitants are scattered 

Like chaff before the breeze; 
With many a fond hope shattered ' 

They cherish but memories. 



56 SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 

THE PROSPECTORS 

An old prospector, brown with tan. 

Fitted out in San Berdoo, 
With burro, ginib, and pick, and pan. 

To search the mountains through. 
He travelled across the El Cajon, 

And o'er the desert gray; 
Then landed in the Panamints, 

Two hundred miles away. 

He panned the sand, assayed the rock, — 

No colors could he find; 
So passing up the Panamints, 

He left them far behind. 
Then trekking to the Funeral s. 

He judged them by his sight; 
But never stuck a pick in them, — 

The formation wasn't right. 
Then to the Providence he went. 

Across that great expanse 
Of sand and sagebrush, and mesquite; 

And gave them just one glance. 
He wouldn't use his pick or pan. 

For he said the chance was slight 
That gold would ever there be found, — 

The formation wasn't right. 

And then again, his burro packed, 

The high Sierras chose. 
And from the burning sea of sand 

To higher mountains rose. 
He travelled north, then east, then west, 

Till tired out each night; 
But not a color did he find, — 

The formation wasn't right. 



SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 57 

His grub now gone, his burro lean, 

And miles from San Berdoo, 
He found himself 'mongst snow and ice 

In the wilds of Siskiyou; 
Yet never in his journey posted 

A notice of location, 
Though every day he sallied forth 

To find the right formation. 

* * * * 

A tenderfoot from San Berdoo, 

With shovel, grab and pick, 
Went out to conquer, if he could, 

And make a fortune quick. 
He stuck his pick in here and there, 

And lo, behold the sight, 
Uncovered pay-dirt that was rich, 

But the formation wasn't right. 

GILA MONSTER 

Half lizard, half snake, an outcast of hell. 
You came to the desert's hot cup to dwell; 
Cast out of sheol where life you began, 
Shunned here by all reptiles as well as by man. 
Such poisonous fangs and villainous mien 
Have never before on this earth been seen; 
And when you lie in the desert's sunlight. 
Ready to spring on your victim on sight. 
And sinking your venomous fangs in deep. 
Locking your jaws to let the poison creep 
Into their life-blood, until they find death 
Has relieved them from your poisonous breath; 
Then in vour sluggish way you exult 
Over the\ictory of your devilish cult. 



58 SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 

CENTIPEDE CENTER NEWS ITEMS 
The cobblers of Centipede Center 

Are out on a strike for more pay, 
And that's the reason the centipedes 
Are going barefooted today. 
* * * ♦ 

In the city of Centipede Center 

Professions queer exist, 
But foremost of them all there is 

The over-worked chiropodist. 



NIGHT ON THE DESERT 

When night falls on the desert solitude, 
No murky haze obscuring heaven's dome, 

I ponder o'er the world's vast magnitude, 
As here my eyes through boundless spaces 
roam. 

The laws of gravitation overwhelm me. 
As I see spheres in countless numbers move 

Through space so swiftly and so serenely, 
Which my own insignificance reprove. 

Here in the depths of awful silence thrust, 
I realize the small part of Nature's scheme 

I am; simply like a little grain of dust, 
With animation — and a short-lived dream. 

And in my haughty self-esteem and pride. 
Like a polished savage I stand up before 

The works of the Almighty— and I bide 
The time — when you and I will be no more. 



I 

1 



SONGS OP THE SUNSET TRAIL 59 

FRESH EGGS IN THE DESERT 
To get fresh eggs in the desert, 

They go down to the store 
And get some unbleached muslin, — 

A yard or two, or more. 

It is then cut up in pieces, 

And little bags are made. 
Which are filled up with cracked ice, 

And 'round hens' necks arrayed. 

This keeps the hens from laying 

So many eggs boiled hard; 
And so they get their fresh ones 

From the desert poultry yard. 



DEATH VALLEY 
O Valley of Silence and Death, 

Sublime and bleak and bare, 
Seared by Satan's fiery breath, 

A grim, diabolical snare. 

Land where the bold mirages play 

O'er the tombs of unfortunate wretches. 

Who litter with their mortal clay 
Thy waterless, treeless stretches. 

Slain by the desert's heat they lie 
On the soil with the purple stain. 

Their sun-dried shapes beneath a sky 
Aflame o'er the hell-scorched plain. 



60 SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 

THE LURE 

Out where the trails are dim, 

Or no trails at all, 
There roams the Desert Man, 

Slave to the call. 

Then comes the yearning 
For friends and for home, 

And ties that there bind him,— 
No more ^vill he roam. 

Out of the blue-gray maze 

Comes the caravan, 
Beasts with their burdens, 

And Desert Man. 



Again comes the yearning 

The desert to roam; 
The lure bids him wander 

From friends and from home. 

Out to the blue-gray sage 

Goes the caravan, 
Beasts with their burdens, 

And Deseii; Man. 



SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 61 

THE QUEEN OF THE HILLS 
I am the Queen of the Hills. 
I am born of the hills and liberty. 
Nature's hands have fashioned and shaped me. 
I was nursed on the heights in the genial glow 

of the summer's sun, 
Where the sun-kissed flowers are bathed in 

April showers. 

But I am desolate. 

At night I hear the lonely sigh of the wind; 
The low voice of the nightingale awes me; 
The incense of the wildflowers has lost its 

charm ; 
The golden moon of the summer's night 

mourns with me; 
The lustre of the stars is dimmed; 
I am oblivious to the dawn-wind that stirs the 

pinetops. 
I long for civilization, for people, for cities, 

for bright lights, for society. 

I am in a great city, with its turmoil, its noises, 
its bright lights, its glitter and glare, 
and its sham, and poverty and vices. 

I, the Queen of the Hills, in a beautiful city, 

I, whose every wish in my own domain, is 
ever gratified. 

I dream of my castle-covered heights. 

Here I am but one of the thousands of bees 
that swarm in this hive. 

All about me I see many ordinary bees. 

They are the workers — the gatherers of honev. 



62 SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 

I see some with gaudy wings, with soiled 
wings, and frayed wings. 

And I see the drones. 

I see others fall by the wayside, exhausted. 

I see the provident bee laying up his store for 
the future. 

And I see the parasite ready to share it. 

I see the misery of the improvident bee. 

And I see its struggle for existence. 

I see many misshapen and abnormal forms. 

I see the poor masquerading in the livery of 
the rich, 

I see the rich descending to the level of beasts. 

And, oh, these sights wound my hill-bred 
nature. 

My senses revolt against such a civilization. 

I am ruthlessly awakened from my dreams. 

A visionary gleam of a real Arcady has sud- 
denly been dispelled. 

I long for my domain in the hills. 

Again I am the Queen of the Hills. 

Again I wander through bird-haunted valleys 

and by-ways. 
Here I find peace and rest and comfort; 
The flowers, the trees, the birds, the beasts, 

welcome me. 
The very stars smile down on me. 
Here I find joy in the hill-wind, and solace in 

kindlier breasts. 
Here I am not confined to hard, narrow strips 

of concrete. 
My vision is not confined to a few feet of 

rnurlcy atmosphere. 



SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL 63 

I do not inhale the variety of odors that con- 
stantly arise in the city. 

I breathe only the pure air, scented with the 
fragrance of the wildflower, the sage, 
and the pine. 

I am not jostled about like a ship in a storm. 

I am not a slave of the city and its shams. 

No more do I crave the excitement and glamour 
of the city. 

I am what nature made me — 

Free-bom and hill-bred; 

And I am satisfied. 



MAUD 

Maud was the idol of the camp, 
None more sweet-tempered, truer, 

Her friends she numbered by the score, 
Was loved by all who knew her. 

Her ivory teeth and dark-brown hair 

Won all our admiration, 
And to the m.any compliments 

Would nod her approbation. 

Her form was graceful, and her eyes 

Reflected ever mirthful joy; 
Her breeding and her gentle ways 

Were that of a young m.aiden coy. 

Over all the rugged hills about 
She would skip like a young deer. 

And trails that were with danger fraught. 
She would 'tempt them without fear. 



64 SONGS OF THE SUNSET TRAIL, 

But she never sat at table, 
For that was against the rule, 

Nor ever slept in downy bed. 
For she was Maud, our mule, 




Copyright, 1922, by 
JAY H. HERMAN 



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